


This Sentimental Heart That Beats

by foldingcranes



Series: All These Things I've Done [11]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcoholism, Canon Temporary Character Death, Depression, Hallucinations, M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Pre-Recall, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 00:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11242056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foldingcranes/pseuds/foldingcranes
Summary: After the Zurich's explosion, and before becoming Soldier: 76, Jack wanders.





	This Sentimental Heart That Beats

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10924200).

Money is tight when you're on the run and playing dead.  
  
Money is also tight when the only thing that keeps you going is an endless supply of booze. It's the only luxury Jack has allowed himself-- it has become a need now, something necessary in order to keep on living, to send himself into oblivion and numb his mind and his heart, his entire body, until he forgets his own name.

(It comes to him, as a stray thought, that he has become his father, looking at the bottom of the bottle and seeing nothing else than simple, pure oblivion.

He's as sad as him, too. More pathetic.

Less gentle.)  
  
And every time he runs out of it, every time he steals, robs and raids in order to survive another day, he wonders what's the fucking point, anyway. He's legally dead, no one knows he's running around, sleeping in empty warehouses and starving himself until his stomach starts to burn. No one would give a fuck.  
  
What's the fucking point. What's the fucking point on living like this, like a ghost who only knows how to haunt and weep and long for happier times.  
  
(He knows this, he knows the answer to the question like the back of his hand. _You don't deserve peace_ , says a voice inside his head.  
  
_You don't deserve to rest._  
  
_You ruined it all, you fool._ )  
  
The floor is cold and unforgiving, and feels like hell on his back. But the vodka bottle at the side of his makeshift pillow helps him forget about it.  
  
He goes back to sleep.  
  
-  
  
Jack stares at it for a long, terrible moment.  
  
The dog's a pitiful thing, soaked to the bone and whimpering under the cold chill of the rain. The cardboard box that housed it gave in a long while ago, turning into some joke of a blanket. It's not enough to protect it from the storm and Jack wants to turn away, leave that rotten alleyway and forget about the dog's sad eyes.  
  
(He needs to stop projecting on street animals.)  
  
He clutches the whiskey bottle in his hand a little bit tighter, and tells himself to stop thinking. To forget about fields of gold and wet noses and Gabriel chattering about soft paws and tricks and bones.  
  
(They had a dog, once, during the first Omnic Crisis. It was a lab mix, clumsy and eager, full of endless energy and affection. His fur was soft, and Gabe loved to bury his face in it: he and Reinhardt had picked up the dog on a recon mission and nursed it back to health inside the base. Jack remembers trying not to get too attached, but he couldn't stay away for long. Goldie ended up sleeping at his and Gabe's feet, and helping him through nightmares and panic attacks. He still remembers the soft feeling of running his fingers through its fur, and the tenderness of petting its sleeping head.  
  
When they had to relocate to another base, they found a new home for Goldie and said goodbye. Gabriel had been devastated.)  
  
-  
  
He brings the dog to his current warehouse and leaves the place only so he can steal some medical supplies, a little food and more booze.  
  
When he comes back, he tends to the dog's wounds: there's an ugly looking gash on his belly and it seems to have a broken leg. He does his best from what he remembers from the farm, the memory of his aunt tending to the animals floating like a dream on his mind-- how her hands worked, efficient and still, her clear instructions as she taught him everything she knew. Eventually, he learned to do it by himself and spent most of his childhood and teenage years surrounded by dogs, cows and chickens. It was easier to be among them and live in silence than trying to communicate with people. People made him tired, but cows were gentle and loving, horses were loyal companions, and the family dog cuddled with Jack in his sleep.  
  
Anyway.  
  
He does the best he can do for the dog and drinks a little before settling for sleep. The rain is still falling outside, and all he can do now is wait and hope the poor thing wakes up to see another day. Even if it's not really worth it.  
  
There's not much else for them, he guesses, and takes another sip of alcohol before wishing the dog a good night.  
  
-  
  
"You're still so soft." There's a hand petting his hair and his head is resting on someone's lap, but Jack can't bring himself to care. He woke up two times during the night to check on the dog, and both times he drank to avoid having nightmares, and he's drifting between the cottony feel of sleep and a heavy drunk stupor. He doesn't dare to open his eyes.  
  
The hand is still petting him.  
  
"So damn soft, Jackie," the voice hums a little, deep and soothing, comfortingly familiar. "You think you're made out of steel, you dick, and here you're picking up strays. I thought I was the only one allowed to do that."  
  
"Well," Jack says, never opening his eyes, "I was your first stray, isn't it?"  
  
He smiles. His eyes sting a little and, for a moment, he pretends he's not dreaming. "When are you coming back to me, Gabe?"  
  
"Damn, Jack," he hears Gabriel sigh, and lips on his temple. Then, the cold comes back and there's nothing under his head. Just his pillow.  
  
"Don't ask me the hard questions."  
  
(He wakes up.)  
  
-  
  
The dog is still alive in the morning.  
  
Jack feeds him and tries to wash away the blood from his fur with a rag, keeping his movements as gentle as possible. The dog barely raises his head and doesn't move or protest, staring at him with pitiful eyes. By the time Jack's done, he changes the bandages and tries to feed it. Her.  
  
She starts eating on the second day.  
  
A week later, she's moving and barking and keeps close to Jack so they can warm up together since she hates the cold and the warehouse is a freezing hellhole. "You're getting attached," Gabriel says, and Jack hates the pity in his voice, and the gentle sense of urgency he projects.  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"You'll only get hurt," Gabriel says. Jack opens his eyes, and no one's there, he's been alone all this time.  
  
(He already knows this.)  
  
The dog whines, asking for attention. She licks the back of Jack's hand and wagges her tail, trying to stop him from feeling distressed.  
  
She's taking care of me, Jack realizes. There's a lump on his throat.  
  
He's not ready to say goodbye.  
  
-  
  
Jack leaves her in a no-kill animal shelter and allows himself to kiss her on the nose before he says goodbye. She barks at him as soon as he turns his back on her and doesn't stop until Jack's too far to be seen.  
  
"You're hurt," he hears Gabriel's ghost say. He keeps walking.  
  
"I know."  
  
"You're soft, Jackie."  
  
He chokes back a sob.  
  
"I know."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic also has a [tumblr post](http://foldingcranes.tumblr.com/post/161994549929/this-sentimental-heart-that-beats).


End file.
